Saving Saffron Sweeting (30 page)

The second emotion was pure delight, as my heart recognised the
man I had thought was my soulmate. We exchanged the look you
sometimes see between lovers at parties, when they’re in the
same room but not standing together: just a fleeting second of eye
contact where both acknowledges a connection stronger than steel.
The tug at my lips was purely involuntary.

When I saw the matching smile on his face, my heart leaped, then
crashed as the pain hit and I remembered why we were here, in a
smart London hotel with shiny floors and assertively yellow
walls.

‘Hi.’ James had crossed the lobby, made as if to hug
me, but stopped short and squeezed both my arms lightly instead. He
looked down at me, smiling awkwardly, surveying me cautiously.

‘Hi.’ I held my overnight bag as a barrier in front
of me, gripping it with both hands. By now, my lips were firmly
clenched so that they betrayed neither smile nor wobble.

‘I’m really glad you came,’ he said, putting
both hands in his pockets and coughing. ‘How are
you?’

‘Fine.’ I nodded more than was necessary, glad of
that morning’s hairdresser visit, as my hair settled
obediently. At least I was looking great. ‘You?’

‘Fine. Yep.’

Neither of us spoke for a moment and when I risked looking at
him directly, I saw his eyes had softened. I looked away in a
hurry. He had definitely lost weight. Ever since university,
he’d been slender, but once we’d moved to California,
swimming and cycling had beefed him up a bit. Now, though, his face
seemed pinched and there were blueish shadows under his eyes.

‘So … how was the conference?’ I asked.

‘Oh. Good. Yes, fine.’

Great. Everything was officially ‘fine’.

‘Shall I take that?’ He gestured at my bag.

‘Oh.’ This was awkward: I had shown up with luggage.
I spoke quickly. ‘I’m not staying. I was in London last
night. I’m on my way home.’

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘But we can put it in the
storage room for a bit.’ Seeing me hesitate, he continued,
‘We could go for a walk, if you’d like.’

A walk. Yes. That was a good plan. Fresh air would be nice. I
still suspected I was getting a cold and my head felt muzzy.

We left my bag and walked north from his hotel. Within minutes,
we crossed the main road and entered Hyde Park. The air was damp
and far from fresh, due to all the bonfires of recent days. Leaves
were falling, joining others lying soggy on the path. Still, I was
glad to stretch my legs. I guessed we had about an hour of decent
daylight left.

James asked after my family; I asked after his mum. He asked
where I was living, and I was deliberately vague in saying I had
found somewhere nice and had made friends. He asked whether I was
working, and I admitted I was helping out at an estate agency and
enjoying it.

‘That’s great,’ he said. ‘I bet
you’re really good at that.’

We reached the Serpentine and turned right, to walk around the
lake.

‘And, um, how’s work for you?’ I wasn’t
being polite, I desperately wanted to know. I looked at him out of
the corner of my eye to get clues from his face as he answered.

‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘Not much
new.’

I gave a tiny snort.

‘What?’ he asked.

‘You have to give me more information than that,’ I
said pointedly, stopping for a moment.

‘Like what?’ He stopped too and seemed genuinely
puzzled.

‘Well.’ I dug my hands in my coat pockets and looked
at the geese on the water. ‘Well, like, how’s
Rebecca?’

‘Rebecca? She moved to Seattle,’ he said.
‘Months ago.’

I stiffened and my mouth formed a silent ‘Oh.’

‘Didn’t I tell you?’ He shook his head and
looked surprised.

For heaven’s sake, I thought, I would have remembered
that. I had been torturing myself for five months and forming
painful pictures of their cosy daily life.

James brought a hand up to the back of his neck and kneaded the
muscles there. Then he spoke carefully. ‘Grace, I don’t
think you believed me, but I was being honest with you when I said
the – thing – with Rebecca, it just happened one
time.’

I looked up at him. My nose was starting to run but if I reached
for a tissue now, he might think I was crying. I shook my head
silently.

‘One lousy mistake, in Vegas,’ he said. ‘On my
mother’s life, I swear to you.’

Did I believe him? I couldn’t think what he would gain
from lying to me, but I still remembered the way Rebecca had looked
at him. Her devoted expression didn’t seem to fit with one
quick shag in Las Vegas.

‘But you saw her bedroom,’ I muttered, thinking of
the treacherous purple accent wall.

‘I gave her a lift home one day, when her car was getting
fixed. She wanted to show me your work.’ James shook his head
emphatically. ‘That was it – that was all, I
promise
.’

Sod it. I found a tissue and wiped my nose.

‘Grace, say something.’

‘I think I’m getting a cold.’

He sighed. ‘Let’s walk.’ The murky light was
fading and other people in the park were starting to thin out. It
wasn’t yet four o’clock and it occurred to me that
California winters had turned me soft. We picked up our pace a
little and continued in silence for a few minutes.

‘Look.’ James was staring fixedly at the path in
front of us. ‘I know I hurt you terribly. I’m so sorry.
I’d give anything to undo that. But …’ He
stopped again and turned to me. His face was absolutely intent, the
little frown lines clear on his forehead. ‘This is awful. I
love you and I want you back. Just tell me what I have to do and
I’ll do it.’

I swallowed hard, staring back at him. Rebecca was gone; he was
asking to try again. These were the eyes I had gazed into on my
wedding day, the day we’d promised better or worse, come what
may, as long as we lived. I felt a magnet pulling me to him. James
was my North. All I had to say was
Yes
, and I could walk
straight into his arms.

Neither of us moved. James looked at me, trusting and waiting,
scanning my face for an answer.

‘I’m seeing someone,’ I said, and my voice
seemed to come from another person entirely.

He stared, blinked, turned half away. Then he turned back to me
and reached for my arm. ‘But, Gruff –’

‘Don’t,’ I said, overwhelmed by how much was
wrapped up in that nickname. I started to cry.

He shook his head and gave a brief ironic smile, before biting
his lip. ‘Is it serious?’

I wiped my eyes and hugged myself from cold and confusion.
‘I don’t know.’

James gazed out across the lake, where the wind had started to
make gentle ripples. He let out a long breath and then looked at
me. ‘We should walk back.’

I nodded, shivering slightly. We turned to retrace our path
around the eastern end of the Serpentine. For five minutes, we
walked in silence, then the mist in the air turned to insistent
London drizzle. I ducked my head and pulled my coat collar up
around my ears. So much for my hairdo.

Without a word, James stepped closer to me and put his arm
around my shoulders, giving me a hint of warmth and shelter. At the
same time, he adjusted his long stride so that our progress was
more comfortable. A stab of longing went through me as I felt his
familiar body pressed against mine. After a few seconds, I
remembered to breathe, and matched my pace to his. We walked
on.

James let me go as we climbed the steps of his
hotel. The warmth of the bright lobby was welcome, but I was
embarrassed by my red nose and ratty hair.

‘Are you hungry? Want something to eat?’ he
asked.

These innocent words were a conciliatory overture in disguise.
As a three-meals-a-day guy, James couldn’t understand my
reliance on snacks. He got by on water from the reusable aluminium
bottle he carried everywhere.

Remembering that my lunch had been a four-inch wedge of cheese,
I said, ‘That would be great.’ Surprisingly, I
wasn’t all that hungry, but I was thirsty, wet and cold.

‘The hotel does afternoon tea. It’s famous, I
think.’

He went to the front desk and came back with a menu. It boasted
savoury skewers, taster spoons and cakes which had allegedly been
inspired by Gucci and Valentino.

‘My treat,’ James prompted, nodding at me
encouragingly.

Jem and I would definitely have to come back here, but today I
was in no mood for fussy. I was also aware that inflicting herbal
infusions and a cherry bavarois on James was somewhat mean.

‘It looks a bit fancy.’ I wrinkled my nose
apologetically. ‘Can we just go to a cafe?’

Our marriage might be as flat as a day-old soufflé, but I
had read him well. He looked relieved as we retrieved my bag and
trudged back out into the rain.

Mungo welcomed me home that night but I
wasn’t up to playing or patting. Not pausing to draw the
downstairs curtains, I headed straight for bed, dumping my now dry
but wrinkled clothes on the bedroom floor. I felt sick, headachy
and miserable. The heating was on but I was shivering. I found my
warmest pyjamas and added socks and a thin jumper.

My phone contained four apologetic texts from Scott, plus two
voice messages, which I hadn’t listened to. Before I climbed
under the covers, I shook his brown-tinged roses into the bathroom
bin and rinsed out the vase. I wasn’t making a grand gesture,
it was time for them to go in any case. And I needed somewhere to
put the freesias from James.

Apart from a couple of solitary souls with laptops, the coffee
shop near the Tube station had been almost deserted. On a wet
Monday afternoon in November, Londoners had found somewhere better
to be. We claimed two armchairs in the corner and waited for the
bored-looking barista to concoct our drinks. In another show of
solidarity, James had ordered a hot chocolate, an indulgence he
usually reserved for ski trips to Tahoe.

Neither of us had said much since leaving the park. I was a bit
surprised he hadn’t simply packed me onto the nearest Tube
train, but was feeling too miserable to analyse this. As soon as
our order had been brought to us, I wriggled my damp feet out of my
boots and tucked them up under me, glancing around furtively as I
did so.

‘Maybe we should have got you a brandy, instead of
tea,’ James said, stretching out his legs and blowing on his
drink.

‘I’m okay,’ I said, my attention temporarily
on a plump teacake, which was dripping butter onto my plate.

By the time I had polished that off and drunk some tea, I felt
brighter. ‘Just a cold coming, I think,’ I said.
‘I hope I haven’t given it to you.’

Funny, I hadn’t given much thought to infecting Scott, but
I didn’t want to make James sick.

‘If you have, I’ll just pass it on to the other
three hundred people on my flight.’

‘When do you leave?’

‘Tomorrow,’ he said. ‘So it’s lucky you
phoned today.’ He gave a half smile.

After another pause, I said, ‘Thank you for the parcel you
sent.’

‘No problem,’ he replied. ‘Do you have
everything you need?’

I nodded.

‘Are you … staying in England for good?’ he
asked.

I lifted the lid on the teapot to add more hot water, then
agitated the bag with a spoon. ‘Dunno. I haven’t
decided.’ Then I saw he was waiting for more and added
quickly, ‘Do you need me to move my stuff out?’

‘No. No, not at all.’ He shook his head. ‘That
wasn’t what I meant.’ He leaned across and put his hand
on mine, where it rested on the arm of my chair. ‘I’d
much rather you came back to Menlo Park.’

I looked down at his fingers covering mine. His touch was warm
and inviting. Then I noticed he wasn’t wearing his wedding
ring. If he’d seen I wasn’t wearing mine either, he
hadn’t said anything.

I paused, as the significance sunk in. ‘I don’t
think I can do that,’ I said sadly.

‘Will you at least tell me where you’re
living?’

I shrugged. ‘It’s a nice village. Near Cambridge. It
suits me.’

‘And … you’re okay for money?’

‘Yup.’ I was making ends meet, but only just. Still,
that wasn’t his problem and considering I’d confessed
to a new relationship, it was a generous question. He really was
being kind. Then I remembered he was the one who’d got us
into this mess in the first place.

I looked at my watch. ‘I always seem to hit rush
hour,’ I said.

‘How are you getting back?’

‘Liverpool Street. Or maybe King’s Cross.’

‘I’ll come and see you off.’

‘You don’t have to do that. I’m
fine.’

‘I’d like to.’

So we wedged ourselves onto a packed Circle line train,
strap-hanging in near silence with dozens of strangers, the
combined body heat drawing wisps of steam from our damp
clothes.

At Liverpool Street, we found I had twenty minutes before the
Cambridge train.

‘I’d better spend a penny,’ I said, leaving
him beside the escalator.

In fact, my visit cost me an exorbitant thirty pence. Britain
was becoming an expensive place to live.

When I returned, James was standing in the same spot, but was
now holding a large bunch of freesias wrapped in pink tissue
paper.

He gave them to me awkwardly. ‘I wanted to get you
something,’ he said. ‘I don’t know why, but these
just reminded me of you.’

I took them, said a simple thank you, and swallowed down the
invading lump in my throat.

‘Well. Bye then,’ he said.

‘Bye.’

After hesitating, he kissed me on the cheek. I ducked my head
and walked away quickly, through the ticket barrier and onto the
platform. As I boarded the train, I looked back, and saw he was
still there. My husband raised his hand in a simple wave, and then
I lost sight of him in the commuter crowd.

I hefted my bag onto the luggage rack and folded myself into a
seat, the freesias on my lap. Gingerly, I sniffed, and as the deep,
sensuous scent floated up, I let the tears stream down my face.